Guitar
by Dunedain789
Summary: When Meat receives a guitar from his sister, what will Roach, Ghost and MacTavish do! Small one-shot


**_Sunday 14th January 2015_**

**_10:04am_**

**_Task Force 141 Base Camp_**

**_Ananindeua, Brazil_**

Rain thundered onto the corrugated metal roof, spilling down the window in rivulets. Training for the day had been canceled because of the thunderstorm that now pounded away at the base of the 141. Bolts of lightening streaked the faintly lit sky, thunder barely heard above the deafening downpour.

MacTavish was hoping beyond hope the thunderstorm would clear up before nightfall. The team was being deployed to Rio de Janeiro to track down an arms dealer in the early morning and heavy turbulence was never a good way to start a mission.

Ghost, MacTavish and Roach had holed themselves up in the recreation room for the day, the musty smell of the creamy coloured carpet mixing with the smoke of MacTavish's recently finished cigar.

Ghost was sprawled across the old worn couch, his mud covered boots resting on a small wooden coffee table, reading an old newspaper, while Roach and MacTavish played a furious game of 'Snap' at a small, round, plastic table

"YUSSSSSSSS!"

Ghost looked up from the newspaper he had been reading just in time to see Meat and Royce smash open the door to the recreation room with enough force to make a semtex bomb proud. MacTavish was not.

"If you break that door again I swear you'll be on latrine duty for a year," he growled, looking up from the card game he was playing with Roach, to give the dream-team a cold glare.

"Sorry sir," chirped Royce. He didn't sound remotely sorry. He was bubbling with excitement, grinning wildly at pleased-looking Meat, who had a single black strap over his shoulder. What it was attached to was hidden behind his back.

"What the bloody hell do you have there Meat?" asked Ghost uninterestedly, his gaze returning to the news paper in his hands. The tiny print was barely legible under the blotches of coffee stains.

Meat grinned, slinging a soft black bag of his shoulders and onto the coffee table where Ghost's muddy boots were resting.

"Just arrived in the mail sir! From my sister!" he explained, pulling the zipper on the bag open to reveal a polished wooden acoustic guitar. It was a rich coppery colour, reflecting the bright light that shone above the coffee table.

He stroked it like it was a prize dog, giving one of the strings an affectionate strum with his thumb. The note reverberated around the room, fading out with a dramatic sigh from Meat.

"I love this baby," he cooed, more to the guitar than anyone in the room.

"I didn't know you played," said Roach, eying the instrument with interest.

"…Well… I don't.." murmured Meat, blushing crimson red as he moved to close the guitar's case again.

"What do you mean you don't play?" snorted Ghost, raising an eyebrow at Meat's turned back.

"Why do you have it then?" asked MacTavish, his focus drawn back to the vigorous game of snap he was playing.

Meat shrugged. "Well my sister in Sydney told me ACDC were coming to town to play at a big concert. And while they were there, she saw the lead guitarist, Angus Young, going into a music store. She knows I'm a big fan of him, so she brought a guitar from the shop and asked Angus Young to sign if before he left."

He reopened the case and flipped the guitar onto its front. On the back was a cursive signature written in shiny black permanent ink.

Royce nearly wet himself with excitement. He gave a delighted and very un-manly squeal as he plopped in front of the coffee table, scanning the signature with an expert eye as if to scrutinize forgery.

MacTavish grinned and said smugly, "You know Angus Young is Scottish born?"

Royce's nodded absent mindedly, his hungry gaze never leaving the inky lines.

Ghost chucked the paper over the back of the couch, giving up trying to read the blotched paper, and stretched, giving a content sigh as his vertebrae cracked. "I dunno. I don't like ACDC very much."

Royce looked like he'd be slapped with a fish. "How can you not like _ACDC's_ music? It's classic rock?"

"Not everyone has your taste Royce. My favorite music comes from _Creedance Clearwater Revival, Jefferson Airplane, The Byrds_…" Ghost trailed off, as he searched for something to keep him preoccupied, now that the newspaper had been discarded.

"I'm disgusted and ashamed of you sir," growled Meat, pulling the pristine guitar out of the case and resting it on his thighs in playing position. He strummed the strings again, fiddling with the notes as he moved his fingers over the neck. It sounded awful. But that might have been because it was out of tune. Very **VERY** out of tune.

"It sounds like you're torturing a variety of small animals Meat."

Meat glared daggers at Ghost. "You just wait till I get better. Then you'll be begging me to play my guitar All. The. Time!" He made a point of his by plucking an out-of-tune string, letting the note fade into silence…

…Which was abruptly broken by a SMASH!

"SNAP!"

Everyone flinched, turning slowly to look at a very triumphant looking MacTavish, hauling away a large pile of cards from the table and adding them to his stash.

"It's just out of tune Meat," mumbled Roach, eying the captain's large horde of cards reproachfully.

"And how would you know?" snapped Meat, highly offended that anyone in the room would know more about his instrument than he did.

Roach turned to face Meat with an eyebrow raised. 'Cause I _can_ play."

Ghost grinned and elbowed Meat in the ribs. "How about you let Roach have play?" he suggested. "Maybe if you're nicer to him, he'll give you some lessons…"

Meat frowned, eying Roach with a deep mistrust, before he reluctantly handed over the instrument to the mousey haired sergeant.

Roach cradled the guitar gently in his lap, plucking each of the 6 strings and fiddling with the mother of pearl tuners. He gave a grunt when he'd finished, strumming the strings gently to make sure the notes were correct.

Satisfied, he got comfortable on the brittle plastic chair, as the eyes of all those in the room locked on him.

He tapped out a slow beat on the musky smelling carpet with his boots, before plucking the strings of the guitar.

Notes echoed around the room, the melody soft and sad but beautiful, the volume dipping and rising like the wave on the sea, the song weaving together to tell its story to those who stopped long enough to listen.

Each of the men in the room were captivated, as the music caressed them, washing through and over them, filling up and emptying out like the ocean does a sea shell.

Roach plucked the final few notes, the reverberating calmness of the music fading away…

Everyone let out a breath they had no idea they had been holding. Roach grinned and handed the guitar back to a rather stunned Meat who accepted it in a daze.

"It's beautiful," said Roach appreciatively, smiling fondly at the guitar.

"Can you teach me?" Meat blurted out, his brown eyes locked desperately on Roach's green ones.

He hesitated, biting his lip. "Maybe."

Meat instantly lit up, and grinned at Roach. "Thanks man. See you at dinner?"

Roach nodded quietly as Meat packed up the guitar into the soft bag, and headed for the door with Royce.

MacTavish let out a whistle as soon as the door clicked shut.

"Someone's getting respect," grinned Ghost, picking up a battered book off the coffee table and turning it over to read the blurb.

Roach scoffed. "As if I'll ever get respect from Meat or Royce."

The air was punctuated again as MacTavish smashed his fist onto the cards on the table.

"SNAP!"

Ghost groaned, hauling himself off the couch and heading for the door. "And you give Meat and Royce shit for smashing the door open," he grumbled, eying the nearly full stack of cards MacTavish had in his fist as he opened the door to leave.

MacTavish grinned. "Want another game?" he asked, pulling a cigar out of his breast pocket and lighting it.

"Sure," replied Roach, handing his last three cards over to the captain, who began shuffling the deck.

The thunderstorm continued to pound at the windows and the team was heading out to Rio de Janeiro tomorrow for another bullet dodging escapade. Or was it saving the world? Roach wasn't sure anymore…

* * *

**I apologize for the utterly crap-tastic quality of this writing! At the moment I'm desperately trying to rid myself of writers block. So this is my pathetic attempt at yet another CoD one-shot**

**This is my first time trying (and failing) to describe music. If you're interested in what Roach is playing this is it (www 00 . youtube 00 .com/watch?v=TAmc0nAbeGY&feature=related) (get rid of 00s and spaces)**

**Yes I know it's The Sims 3. *shudders***

**I was thinking I could make him play a celtic song known as Neil Gows lament, but it lasts 4 minutes and I'm too lazy to write a long music description... _**

**One day maybe..?**

**Anyway I hope you enjoyed. Please don't flame! I know it's terrible. I don't need reminding.**


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